


Anchor

by orphan_account



Series: Shuffle [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Bloodplay, Burning, Kayfabe Compliant, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are anchors. They keep us sane, or they hold us back. Dean Ambrose would fall under the first part. And, honestly, Seth Rollins isn't quite sure which is which for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic wasn't supposed to exist, I never had the intention of writing Ambrollins. It flew into my brain after listening to a single from a local band that got famous, Vanna, and the idea wouldn't let go.
> 
> So, as such, I recommend you listen to "Preying" by Vanna followed immediately by "Sinematic" by Motionless In White to get the vibe set up in the story.
> 
> I can't even begin to thank people for helping me through the process of writing this. They know who they are…
> 
> Also, it's currently rated as explicit because it's going to get there...if they decide to cooperate.

Who the fuck  _was_  he anymore? He always defined himself by what he wasn't, goddamnit, and right now his compass was broken. Where the fuck was north anymore, what the fuck was a home? He'd never had one, not really, not until him, him and those goddamn brown eyes that pulled him in, kicking and screaming, clawing at some invisible hands that he didn't know whether or not they were trying to save him or push him down even further. Do you know how hard it is to look yourself in the fucking eyes, knowing that this is all your fucking fault?

It was his fucking fault. All of it. He knew it, and he hated it. Hated having to fake the smiles with the fans, hated having to pretend that it didn't hurt. But it did, oh man it fucking  _killed him_. He didn't remember how many drinks he had by now, or how he had gotten to this point, but he knew he had ignored a lot of phone calls from Roman. He wasn't stable, he never really had been to be quite honest, but without Seth, his anchor, his fucking glue, all bets were off.

He was a fuck up. He finally accepted it, took it in, the definition he fought against every day of his lie of a life. Posturing as some big tough guy when really he was some fragile shell of a man who just needed a fucking friend, not this goddamn…whatever the hell he had been. A drug? A fix? Stitches on old wounds, a motherfucking addiction. He had an addictive personality; he knew that, he had nature and nurture to thank for that.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. They could be coworkers, they could even be friends but man the minute he had finally given in to that temptation, to capture those lips with his own, gripping tightly onto the back of his neck, moaning in relief and celebration and goddamn completion, the game had changed.

He could remember the sage advice that Regal had given him, that we hurt the ones we love most, that love and hate are entwined, that both inspire passion and bloodlust. That was one truth that had stuck with him. That was a dynamic he hadn't expected to come out of that…relationship, he guessed, but he could see exactly what he meant now. He didn't hate Seth, he hated that Seth had gotten so under his skin, running trails along tendon and bone, sending electric shocks of emotion he couldn't put into words into his stomach, making him dizzy and hungry and riding some goddamn high.

But he let his damage get the best of him and he always hurts the ones he loves; he makes it easy for them to leave. They always do. And now he was sitting in his empty apartment, drunk, crying, with a broken mirror in shards on the floor and bloodied fists, leaving streaks on the walls and stains on the carpet.

He was a goddamn virus. He infected everything with his touch. While Seth was the warmth of the sun, all he was was a fucking poison. And now he had done it again.

He was so stupid. He was so fucking useless. He was filth, he was garbage, he was trash, he was just as bad as he had said in his old promos but he was so much worse. He was falling apart, bleeding down to his elbows, knuckles swollen and probably broken. But fuck it, fuck it all, he'd work through the pain, he always had, it's what kept him breathing. It wasn't enough, he wanted to  _ache_.

Punching himself in the face seemed like the best option at the time.

Nothing could hurt the way he felt, but the pain of punching himself repeatedly in the jaw, hitting his head off the wall, that could distract him long enough. The taste of blood could mask the taste of tears.

"What the fuck."

His eyes were closed, letting the bliss of the alcohol and the pain and loss of blood carry him full on into the lunacy people mistook for gimmick. Oh, if they only knew, if they could only see. The voice got louder.

"Dean. WHAT. THE. FUCK."

Yes, good, tell him what trash he was, how fucked in the head he was. How no one could ever love him, how could they?

A cracking sound hit the air right at the same time he felt it across his face. He opened his eyes…and why the fuck was Seth here? Hadn't he done enough?

Seth saw those grey eyes go wide momentarily, and then settle into back into that icy glare that got him in this mess in the first place. He hadn't signed up for this, he never had any intentions on trying to fix or save anyone. Nor did he ever really try, it just seemed to happen naturally. He also hadn't signed up to fall in love with this asshole, but,  _well_.

"What the fuck do you want." Dean was slumped against the wall, knees drawn in on himself, leaning his head back, his hair leaving bloodied marks across the paint. His words were slurred, half from the entire bottle of whiskey or two that he had downed, half from the pain and blood loss. Seth could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. He knew he wanted to say so much more.

"What, did you forget some of your shit? Are you here to fucking laugh at me? What the fuck do you want, Seth. Because I am so not in the fucking mood."

He hated seeing him like this. He knew the type of personality he had, he knew how damaged he was, but he also knew what it was like to wake up next to him in the middle of the night, watching him while he slept. Seeing the hair that was currently matted with blood and sweat instead be soft strands of golden brown, curling at random on the pillow. He remembered the feel of his now split lip against his neck, those bloodied hands having once trailed down his chest and stomach, to find home along his hips.

He wasn't as damaged as he made himself out, but he was also more dangerous that he even knew. His kiss was like fire, burning and branding itself upon you, marking you as his, indefinitely. He'd never let you go, he held you closely even miles apart, and that cage was too confining for someone like Seth who needed the freedom of open skies. He needed to leave, he needed to rip himself away, and he couldn't be what kept Dean together, that was something he needed to do that on his own.

But he couldn't sit by and watch him like this either.

He wanted so desperately to be cold, to feel that ice water in his veins, but the warmth of Dean's presence always melted him, flooding him, making him feel heavy with emotion and fear and wanting.

He extended a hand, helping him this one last time. It had to be the last time. He couldn't play this game with him anymore.

Dean looked up at him, seeing Seth extending his hand slowly to him, as if it would be bitten off. In his younger, more rabid days, maybe he would have, depending on how many drugs he had taken. Instead, he just sits there, watching Seth start to bring his hand away. He quickly grabs, not wanting to lose the opportunity to touch him one last time.

And suddenly it was as if the room caught flame.

_Oh god, this was a mistake._

Seth pulls Dean up to his feet, but Dean pulls Seth into his arms. All he can smell is whiskey and blood and sweat, and why did he do this, why did he offer his hand, he was falling fast, his resolve was shaking, fuck fuck fuck fuck. He knew it was all over when he was spun around, his back hard against the wall, Dean's face streaked with tears and blood, staring at him. This was the exact predicament he found himself in before, so many months, no, years ago, and in some sick twisted way, instead of escaping the cycle, he had simply rebooted it.

The feel of Dean's fist flying past his head to hit the wall knocked him out of his thoughts.

"Why…fucking why…"

Seth knew the question was more than one. Why was he there, why did he leave. He couldn't answer either, really. Not out loud. He couldn't do that, he could never say. He couldn't justify the answers, not in a way that Dean would understand, sober or not. The decisions had been made, explaining them would do nothing to change what happened, not like how Dean wanted. It was never about wanting to abandon him, of not loving him.

In fact, he still fucking loved him, so much, so goddamn much. Roman had called him, telling him how he was scared for Dean, that he hadn't answered his phone in hours, that he figured he should know. Roman was going to be the one to come check to make sure Dean still had a pulse, but Seth wanted to make sure for himself. He couldn't have that guilt on his hands.

And here he was, pressed against a wall by Dean, who just kept hitting the same part of the wall over and over again, whispering now. "Why won't you answer me…why won't you ever tell me…you never tell me…"

"Stop. Dean, just stop."

The fist kept coming, not as hard this time, but still landing in the same spot on the wall. Seth could see how swollen and bloodied his hand was getting, and finally broke. He couldn't see him fall apart like this anymore over him. He caught the fist with his hand, moving his hand to quickly wrap around his wrist and force it down.

"Just fucking stop, Dean."

Dean looked at him, and god it was like he was going to kiss him, and if Seth gave in, if he gave in now, then it would all be for naught, this would have been nothing but a way to torture Dean and he couldn't have that on his conscious either.

"Let's…let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

Dean nodded, suddenly very exhausted. Any fight left him the minute he felt Seth's skin against his, his hand clasping around his pulse. It was as if the warmth of his touch reignited every emotion and quieted him in a way he had searched for all night, and it hurt even  _worse_.

Seth managed to get both Dean's face and the cuts on his fist washed, wrapping his hand. He was gentle, quietly tending to him, both in their own thoughts. Seth at the irony of him literally fixing him this time around, Dean at the shock of Seth being the one to fix the wounds he made. When Seth started to gently look at the back of Dean's head, seeing if he'd need stitches, Dean took advantage of leaning forward to wrap his arms around Seth's waist, holding him in place.

"I…"

"Shhhh. Fucking stop, Dean. Just keep quiet." If he started to talk, this would only snowball into a larger problem. Seth was already questioning his motives, feeling so goddamn guilty for driving the man he loved to this state. How goddamn stupid was he? Leaving because he was afraid of how much he loved him. What the fuck type of reason was that.

Dean hummed to himself, the feel of Seth in his arms, even for this moment, being the anchor for him once more, it was everything he needed. The feel of his fingers in his hair, being able to touch him again…it lulled him into a happy numbness. He murmured into Seth's stomach.

"I'm sorry."

Seth paused, hands freezing momentarily, before sighing to himself and rubbing a hand lightly on Dean's back.

"It's…it's not your fault. Ok? It's not your fault…it was never your fault… None of this was ever your fault."

He has to bite his lip from saying any more, as he feels the dry sobs coming from Dean. He knew he had struck a nerve, he knew Dean blamed himself for everything in his life, telling him that might have been the worst thing he could do right now, but it was the only truth he could tell him without falling apart at the seams himself.

He had to peel Dean's arms from around his waist, crouching down and holding Dean's head up to look him in the eyes. They were red and swollen, irritated from crying and drinking.

"Come on…let's get you to bed, alright?"

He manages to help Dean into their…  _his_  room, and asks Dean if he's ok to get changed, not wanting to recall the memories they had left in there of stripping each other slowly when there was time, or desperately when they just couldn't wait. Dean nodded slowly, while Seth went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water for Dean, taking the time to clean up the mess left in the living room.

Why was he doing this? Why didn't he just let Roman clean this up?

_Because you can't control whom you love, you were supposed to help him, not hurt him._

Seth groaned to himself, feeling the last shreds of his resolve fall apart. He had to make sure Dean was ok, but he couldn't do anything else, he'd already started to regret his actions.

He made his way back into the room, to see Dean softly snoring in the bed. Seth smiled in spite of himself, and placed the water on the nightstand. He walked over to the dresser, leaning against it, grabbing his phone.

_-Well? Is he alive?-_

_-Yeah, snoring in bed now. Wrapped up his wounds, cleaned up the mess.-_

_-…and?-_

_-And I'm leaving in a few, I just want to make sure he's ok.-_

A half hour had passed of Seth just watching Dean sleep. He was fitful, grabbing at the other pillow on the side he used to call his. He saw him wrap his arms around it, and closed his eyes tightly, realizing he was only hurting himself more the longer he stayed. He went to leave, but he felt his legs stop. He turned around, realizing that with the way things went, he could end this as peacefully as possible. He softly made his way over, and leaned over, placing a soft kiss on Dean's forehead, a goodbye he didn't have the guts to say aloud again.

"Don't go."

Seth's eyes shot open, moving away to look down at Dean, whose eyes were half-lidded, groggy and confused.

"Don't leave me again. I can't watch you leave again."

_Fuck._

Dean's good hand shot out to catch Seth's, and it was as if a fuse had been ignited up Seth's spine. He closed his eyes, not wanting to let any tears risk their way out.

"I can't."

Dean's face fell, and he went to let go of Seth's hand, when Seth continued.

"I can't ever leave you. No matter how much I try. I can't ever leave you."

He quickly glanced at Dean's lips, shooting his eyes back to Dean's.

Dean whispered a single word. "Please."

Giving in to temptation is what first got him in this mess, and by god it's what got him back into it. He leaned over and softly kissed Dean, just a gentle press of lips, but it was all that Dean needed. He was too tired for anything else, too drained. He wrapped an arm around Seth, pulling him onto the bed fully, nuzzling his head into Seth's neck. His anchor.

Seth could already feel those stitches reforming between their hearts, forcing its way through the scar tissue of the last time they were severed. Seth absent-mindedly rested a hand against his chest, as if he could feel them making their way through. Dean's hand rested over his, having moved from his waist.

Seth closed his eyes, wondering to himself why he ever felt he was caged. He let the feel of Dean's deep, even breathing lull him to sleep, Dean's hand still holding his over his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't supposed to exist, but, well, here we are. Mood music is "This Is A Trick", "Bitches Brew", and "Bermuda Locket" by Crosses.

He could never quite figure out what it was about him, not until now. Those eyes, they held everything. When he was laughing, the vague shreds of his innocence floating to the surface, they were a bright blue; when the light caught him just the right way, they’d appear greenish, slightly murky with his thoughts. And when he was riled up, either to anger or arousal, they were an icy grey.

That’s the color he saw staring back at him when he woke up, slowly blinking his eyes open. Those eyes, full of desperation and lord knows what else. The stitches in his heart tugged, hardened by tears and blood and alcohol. He couldn’t rip them again, not without spilling open in this bed. Seth breathed slowly, as if any sudden movement could set him off.

He wasn’t quite sure what Dean was going to do, to be honest. It was still very early, the sun not having even fully risen; he figured he’d be too tired, hungover, sore from last night. He remembered that moment when he had been pushed against the wall, that momentary fear and shot of arousal mixing in the base of his spine, wondering if Dean would give in to the temptation again. He had prayed, but he didn’t know for what: to have him succumb again, or to resist. He didn’t know what he wanted, then or now. 

When he felt Dean’s bandaged hand rest on the side of his head, slowly twisting the sleep-tousled curls between his fingers, he could tell that Dean still didn’t believe he stayed. Hell, _he_ didn’t believe he stayed. He had been so sure of his decision, but that was always his downfall: he could never say no to Dean, not without lying to himself to do so. So when Dean slowly pulled him in for a kiss, half out of fear of this being a dream, half out of him still being guided by exhaustion, Seth couldn’t say no.

A gentle press of lips, just like the goodbye kiss that didn’t end up being goodbye. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, being able to feel Seth’s lips against his again, and to be aware of it, even only slightly, was settling him, bringing him back. He kissed a bit harder, needing more than just the innocence this time around. He needed to rebuild himself, slowly, and Seth was the only one who ever could do it.

Seth knew that when Dean started to move to lay on his back, pulling Seth on top of him, that this was going in a direction he was not ready to head in at… he looked quickly over at the alarm clock on the side table…4:28 am. This was not a direction he was ready to head in at nearly 4:30 in the morning. He had only had maybe two, three hours of sleep tops thanks to Dean, and yet there he was, straddling his hips, with his mouth still on Dean’s. _Shit_.

He breaks the kiss away, having to move his face away so Dean would stop chasing his lips for even a moment. “Dean, we shouldn’t.” He never said he didn’t want to…just that they probably shouldn’t. They were both exhausted, they were both still dealing with some semblance of emotional whiplash, and they still had so much they had to talk about.

“Please.” 

 _Oh god not again_. It was still weird for him to hear Dean begging, in any form, and the feel of his hands, so large and warm, against his hips was tugging at those stitches in his chest again, tightening them, drawing him closer. He felt Dean press his hips up, and just feeling him hard beneath him made Seth have to close his eyes to regain thought.

“Please, Seth. Don’t make me beg anymore.” Dean pressed his hips up again, pulling Seth against him, rolling his eyes slightly backwards at the feeling. Usually, he’d have flipped Seth over at this point, taking control of the situation. This time though, this time he needed Seth to make the moves, to control the pace. He wanted that so badly, to be able to just let go, just once, just once with him.

Hearing him beg was clouding Seth’s head slightly, and he couldn’t help but let out a slight moan when Dean ground their hips together. He shook his head, partially to clear his thoughts. “Dean…not now…too tired…we shouldn’t…” Once more, Dean grinds their hips together, groaning.

“Fuck, please…I need you to, please…”

 _Shit_. He was so tired, but if it was going to keep him quiet and help him sleep… He bit at Dean’s ear lightly, whispering, “you’re lucky I –“ No. Not right now.

Dean knew, he could tell with the way that Seth broke off that sentence. He didn’t bother pursuing it, not now, not with the way Seth was slowly making his way down his body. He had fallen asleep in just his boxers, which _thank god_ because it made it so much easier for Seth to undress him. His brain felt heavy, and the feel of Seth’s hand around him, the warm wetness of his mouth on him, it was _something_ , but it wasn’t _everything_. And everything is what Dean needed.

Seth was honestly being a little sloppy, and if it wasn’t 4:30 in the fucking morning, he probably _would_ have made more of an effort. But he was tired, and Dean was still making these delicious little noises, shifting his hips, and it seemed to be doing the trick, so fuck it. He’d switch off from sucking him deep into his mouth, to stroking him tightly, watching his muscles tense and release with the change in sensation.

He thought he was doing enough to keep Dean quiet, at least as quiet as sex with him could be. But whenever Dean damn near whimpered out that he needed more, Seth wasn’t going to budge. He was exhausted, there was no way in _hell_ that he was going to do anything more than this, he wasn’t exactly _ready_ either. He went to go wrap his lips around Dean’s length again, when Dean spoke up again.

“Need you…fuck, need you _inside_.” 

Oh. _Oh_.

Seth could feel his brain fog over at the thought, and his body reacted in kind. Dean _never_ asked for that. He was so dominating in bed, and in life, that it was just assumed that he’d always be the one to top. And yet here they were, with Dean begging Seth to fuck him. At 4:30 in the fucking morning. Seth had _definitely_ woken up at this point. Fuck what time it was.

“Are…are you sure?” His hand had stilled on Dean’s cock, but Dean pushed his hips up into Seth’s fist, groaning. 

“Fuck, yes, please…” Dean let go of his death grip on the bed sheets to blindly claw at the side table, looking for the drawer. “Where the fuck…”

Seth couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, seeing Dean so desperate and needy. It was a foreign sight, and his heart made some strange skip to see him like that. “Calm down, I’ll get it.”

He climbed out of the bed, taking a moment to finally strip himself of the clothes he had fallen asleep in, before grabbing the lube and a condom out of the side table. He could feel Dean watching him, and when he looked back at his face, his eyes had some blue in them again. God, he was so trusting, that still made his stomach drop, how he could still be so trusting sometimes. 

Seth pushed the thought out of his head when he crawled back on the bed, making quick work of tearing open the condom wrapper and rolling it onto himself. He looked down at Dean’s body, and it felt almost foreign to him, seeing Dean like this. He knew there wasn’t really anything different from when he’d be on his back waiting for Seth to ride him, but there was always that understanding that Dean would be in control. He wasn’t this time, and that made some weird twisting feeling in Seth’s stomach, mixing very oddly with the arousal that kept its firm hold on him.

He poured some of the lube on his fingers, nervously hoping to himself that it was warm enough. He didn’t know why he felt this anxiety riding his spine, at least not what was specifically causing it. There were plenty of reasons…but this wasn’t the time to think on it. He places his other hand on Dean’s knee, and looked up at his face. “You ready?”

Dean nodded, his head lolling back onto the pillow when Seth slowly slid a finger in. It was still a new sensation for him; he’d only ever felt this once or twice before, pure curiosity having gotten the best of him on a lonely night. It was different having someone else do it, though. It was the difference that he needed right now.

Seth couldn’t help but groan to himself seeing Dean react to just one finger; he was going to Hell quite quickly at this rate. He slowly fucked him with the one finger, waiting for those breathy moans to come back from Dean’s lips. When he heard Dean moan out for more, he moved to two fingers, rubbing his other hand up and down Dean’s thigh. Soon, Dean was begging him, “please, please I need you, I fucking need you.” Seth knew he wasn’t ready though, he could tell with how tense he still was. 

“No, one more finger.”

“I’m fine, I just need to feel you, _please Seth_.”

Seth snapped at him, more out of concern, but still irritated at how Dean tended to jump headfirst into things he had no real experience with. “No, I’m not going to fucking hurt you. Just trust me on this.”

Dean stopped, flinching slightly when Seth said that. He nodded, going to say that he trusted him, instead a groan climbing its way out of his throat as Seth slowly added a third finger. It was a stretch, that was for damn sure, one that Dean hadn’t even had the balls to try himself, but _fuck_ it was getting him closer to what he needed. He fell into the pleasure of it even more, spreading his legs just a bit further, closing his eyes and letting Seth take control. It was nice to feel that when push came to shove, he could count on Seth to keep him where he needed to be, even when he wanted to just float away with the tides. After a few more thrusts, he grits out the word again.

“Please.” 

Seth nodded, slowly pulling his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets. Whatever, they’d wash them later. He grabbed the bottle of lube again, pouring some more in his hands, coating himself and making sure to put some more on Dean. He wiped his hand again, and looked up at Dean.

“You tell me if it hurts, alright? None of this silent taking the pain bullshit that you do. You fucking tell me, ok?”

Dean nodded, eyes hazy with want, probably not even paying attention to what Seth said. “I will, just please, fuck, quit dragging this out…”

Seth closed his eyes, and pushed inside of Dean slowly. He heard the hiss escape Dean’s list, felt him tense up quickly. “Shhh, either relax or tell me to stop…” He rubbed his hand up and down Dean’s thigh again, and when he felt Dean start to relax around him again, he slowly pushed in further, eventually finding himself buried within him.

God, the sensation for the both of them…the tables had turned on them, and they knew it was more than just sex at this point. Seth leaned forward to give Dean a gentle kiss, the slightest change in their angle making them both let out their own noises, a moan or a whispered “fuck.”

This wasn’t about rushing to any sort of finish; they were both still so tired. This was gentle and slow, this was rebuilding. Seth kept his face buried in Dean’s neck, kissing along the column of it, whispering and groaning into his shoulder. Dean kept his good hand wrapped up in Seth’s hair, his bandaged one resting on his back, just letting the sensations take him over. When he finally could feel that teetering feeling in the back of his spine, barely forming the words, “have to cum,” Seth pushed himself up, lazily wrapping a hand around Dean’s cock. It only took a few strokes, firm and tight, along with Seth’s slow and steady rhythm, before he fell apart, mouth open with no sound coming out.

Seeing Dean fall apart like this beneath him, it gave Seth some strange sense of accomplishment, and he captured Dean’s mouth in his, moaning into his open mouth as he thrust harder and quicker, wanting that release to rip through him, needing that power shift in full. He felt it racing up his body, and he moved his face back to Dean’s neck, groaning out “fuck, I love you” as his body finally released. 

They lay there for a moment, trying to catch their breath, sharing a lazy kiss or two before Seth finally pushed himself up and pulled out, heading towards the bathroom to clean himself up and get rid of the condom.

He came back a few minutes later, crawling back underneath the covers. He felt Dean wrap him up in his arms, and rested his head on his warm chest. He was even more tired now than he had been before, and the sight of the sky lightening with the rising of the sun, and the far away sound of birds chirping added to the bizarrely peaceful moment. They had so much to talk about, especially after everything that had just happened. 

“Shush. You think too loud. Go to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

He looked up and saw Dean smiling at him, a lazy smile that made his eyes crinkle, a dimple deciding to appear briefly. His face was still blissed out, but it was always such a good look to have float across his face, that it was ok. His eyes were that bright blue again. 

He kissed Seth’s forehead gently, and repeated, “go to sleep.”

Seth nodded, letting the sound of the birds, and the feel of Dean’s chest rising and falling with his breaths, like a gentle tide, lull him to sleep. Dean watched him for a few minutes, before finally letting the weight of Seth’s body, and the weight of his heavy eyelids, pull him under again.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, I know I keep saying this. The first chapter wasn't supposed to happen at all. The second chapter wasn't supposed to happen, but the feelings got in the way of the sex. This third chapter? This was pure accident. I had marked this story as completed, I had felt happy with where I left it.
> 
> The boys weren't, apparently.
> 
> Mood music for this chapter? "Can You Feel My Heart" by Bring Me The Horizon. It's because of that song that this chapter existed. Blame all of my writing on music, I guarantee you will be 99% correct.
> 
> Without further ado.

Waking up first was both the best feeling and the most painful feeling for him; seeing him lying there, exhausted from the bullshit he had put him through since last night.  _Ugh_ , god he was even worse than he thought. He snuck out of the bed, thankful that it didn't wake Seth up, because he wasn't really in the mood for the inevitable conversation that would be had later. He made quick work of taking a shower and getting dressed, which in his case was putting on boxers and a pair of jeans. He made his way through the apartment, expecting to see more collateral damage, and instead seeing his apartment as if it were the exact same, minus one mirror that he had only bought because he hated how empty and blank his walls were.

He reached into the back of one of the kitchen cabinets, grasping blindly until his hand found the box. "Emergency" cigarettes. This qualified as an emergency, he reckoned. Sure, he had tried quitting, and for the most part was successful, but every now and then, that craving would slide up his arms, making him twitch slightly. This was one of those times. He'd ideally like some coffee with this, but his coffee maker was crap and they didn't sell coffee strong enough for it. He'd have to suffer with that loss.

He made his way back into the living room, sliding out onto the balcony. The Vegas strip at night was beautiful, but the strip in the early morning? It was strange, like an aging body: you could see its beauty, but it's lost its vitality, it's frail and weakened and you have to really close your eyes and imagine it, and it'll never measure up to seeing it live and in person. What he loved about Vegas was how no one cared who you were, what your issues were. As long as you liked to drink, liked to gamble, liked to fuck, you were welcome.

Lighting up the first cigarette was like lighting a spark in him. The comfort of it between his lips, just inhaling the nicotine and countless other chemicals that would try to kill him slowly, letting that smoke out slowly…it was the one thing he could control at his whim. Everything else was out of his hands, and god did that fucking  _bother him_.

He anxiously flicked the ash off of the cigarette, looking down at the burning embers. Moving to Vegas was another decision on a whim, literally tossing a dart at a map and going "oh ok." To some he appeared reckless, he knew that, but when your life is out of your control from the moment of your birth, when you have no control over the relationships you form with your parents, how you're treated in school, on what addictions you face, on whether or not you still have a fucking job in the morning…on who you fall in fucking love with…sometimes, sometimes deciding to light up a cigarette in the city you moved to on a whim was the only shot in hell you had at pretending to have any control in your fucking life.

He hated thinking about it. God, he fucking hated it, he hated how his brain always found some way to dig that knife in a little harder, to rub that salt in his wounds. Losing Seth, even if to momentarily get him back – momentarily, because who knew what this conversation would end up being about – was another moment of  _they all leave you, they always do, the ones you love, the ones who tell you they'll never leave you, that they'll never hurt you, the ones you consider family, they all disappear, they all turn into shadow and dust and ash and ghosts… you are alone..._

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. That voice in his head always used his birth name, which was another moment of twisting the blade. Because, fuck the fact that he's made a new identity for himself, a successful identity, one that people recognize him by. Why would that voice in his head acknowledge that? Why would it give him the fucking satisfaction? He took another drag of the cigarette, leaning his head back as he exhaled. He hated being alone because of the thoughts in his head, but he liked being alone because he was less likely to damage the people around him, if there wasn't anyone there.

It had been hard to avoid Seth, they worked together, were in a fucking stable together, travelled the road together, had history back to developmental. He'd always been floating near him, each one caught in the other's orbit. It was an obsession, not unlike the obsession he had for Regal, but unlike finding a kindred spirit, a father figure – in some fucked up, twisted, still eating at him way – he found…well, he didn't know what he found in Seth, but it burned at him, ate at his insides, to the point that when they finally made the big leagues, when they finally got to be on the main stage, the electricity of his nerves sparked like goddamn fireworks. He lit up like the Vegas strip at night, full of sleaze and power and aggression and wanting.

It had been a few months in, and he had been thrumming with this frenetic energy, jumping around twitchingly in the locker room. He knew what it was, Seth had finally eaten at him, finally torn a way into his chest, and his stupid personality quirks had been adopted. Including this stupid ritual, which was usually accompanied by some god awful screaming bullshit that Seth would blast on end. He didn't mind some of it, he supposed, but that was more because he had been forced into liking it after Seth would call dibs on the radio on a road trip. He'd watch him from his peripheral if he happened to be the one driving, watching Seth headbang, black and blonde hair flying while the wind blew through the open car window. He'd mouth out the words, drumming in the air, making the sign of the Cross or moving his thumb across his throat like he was slicing it, obviously thinking back to music videos or concerts he'd attended. He was channeling the live energy of that music, and when you'd see him in the ring,  _god_ , it was like all of that music, all of that energy, all of that beautiful fucking rage blasted out of him full force. He'd thrash against the ropes, he'd roar into the open air, stomping on the mat, almost like he was one of those bands that he'd listen to in the car.

Dean had adopted that because it worked, at least that's what he told himself. Helped him to sleep at night, if he ever slept. That was another thing that he had, unfortunately, no control over. He couldn't take sleeping pills, he'd had enough pills in his life, enough drugs in his life, to know that even the most well-meaning of prescriptions could spell the end of the only good thing he had going for him. So instead, he'd suffer at night with fitful sleep, nightmares and memories seeping in, weighing him down, making him feel like his own skin was trying to suffocate him. He wasn't a praying man, by any means, but he'd started to find himself praying for a way to sleep, even if it was only for an hour or so more.

So, he had adopted this ritual of building up that energy, letting it out in the ring, giving him more of an endorphin release, letting that adrenaline bleed out of him slowly, feeling his muscles and his bones grow fatigued, feel his eyelids grow heavy, and finally get some fucking sleep. However, the energy hadn't left, it had only grown. He had still managed to fuck this up, goddamn it. So he did it again, hoping maybe he'd let it work its way out. Seth walked in the locker room, headphones on, banging his head just enough to feel the beat of the music, but not enough to be blatant. His eyes were closed, but when he opened them, he saw Dean there, bouncing on his feet, running his fingers through his hair back and forth, looking like he could punch a hole through one of the lockers.

"You good over there?"

Seth was amused, watching Dean jump around like that. It was like he was trying to be him, and to be honest, right before he paused the music on his iPod, he was doing a pretty good job, at least in going along with what he had been listening to. Dean stopped, turning around to look at him. His eyes were this wild icy blue, his hair crazy and in his eyes, and not like Seth  _purposely_  stared at his face, but he could see the hint of stubble shadowing his cheeks... he was beautiful in some perverse way, and Seth never really said that about guys often, if ever. He could say this about Dean, he  _knew_  Dean, he knew of him back in the indies too, he knew how wild and untamed he could be if channeled correctly. Seeing him thrash around the locker room, to whatever frantic and wild music or thoughts in his head… it was like getting a look even deeper. It made him feel like he had intruded.

He couldn't help but swallow as Dean spoke, voice low and raspy. "Do you know where I got this from? It's all your fault, you know." He moved closer to Seth, making Seth back up against the wall. He didn't know why he was so shaken by this, but he found himself being cornered by Dean, and he didn't know what to do. Dean had grabbed his hand, forcing it onto his chest. He wore a thin black tshirt, and he pressed Seth's hand against his chest hard, forcing him to feel the erratic beating of his heart. "Do you see what I mean? It's all your fault."

Seth blinked at him, unsure what he meant. He knew he had gotten Dean into liking some of the bands he listened to, maybe he was talking about how he'd get listening to some of the heavier bands, the shit with the really heavy bass, the low chugging breakdowns, the real guttural screaming, would get him amped to the point that he could feel the blood rushing in his head, he could feel his pulse racing in his neck, he was thrumming with it. He knew that feeling. "I'm sorry?"

It was like some nerve ending didn't get the right spark, the way that Dean's face contorted briefly. He pressed Seth's hand even closer, almost as if he was trying to force it  _into_  his chest. "Don't you fucking get it? This is all your fucking fault." He was repeating himself, trying to drive home the point. He was terrible with words, with letting them escape his lips, at least if it was genuine emotion on a personal level. Once that red light on the camera came on, that was a different story, he was a different person. He was standing here, trying to force Seth to feel the way his heart was beating a mile a minute, how his blood had rushed through his body, how he was absolutely pulsing with an energy he couldn't get rid of through a good match, through good music. He finally gave up trying to explain, and instead he moved his hand to Seth's neck, wrapping it gently around his throat.

He could feel the pulse quicken under his fingers,  _good yes_. He saw Seth's eyes widen, those brown eyes staring back at him, sucking him down. Something to drown in. "Do you get it yet?" Seth had just made out the word "I" before Dean had pressed his lips against his, not enough pressure to bruise or steal his breath, but enough to silence him. He moved his hand from his throat to rest on the back of his neck. He leaned his forehead against Seth's after breaking the kiss, and stared into those brown eyes again. "This is all your fucking fault."

Dean shook his head, coming back to reality, to the present. He had replayed the moment over his head time and time again, of him pulling Seth to him, kissing him hard, feeling Seth push back against him, feeling him hard against him, grinding against him, trapped between him and a wall. He almost had him like that last night, but he couldn't do it again, he couldn't replay that moment in real life, as much as he desperately wanted to. If it were up to him, if his body didn't betray him, he would have fucked Seth right there against that wall, make him feel the pain he was feeling, leave him feeling just as raw and as open as he was.

The thought of him fucking into Seth like that ignited two distinctly different trains of thought in his brain, but both left the same evidence. He thought of how much he had wanted to break Seth apart last night, and he thought of how instead, he had begged Seth to fuck him.  _He never begged anyone for sex._  He never had to, not really. It wasn't even the sex, even though,  _god_  he needed to get off in the worst way, the drinking and the accidental self-harm hadn't done much to get rid of the itching ache under his skin. It was just some semi-permanent way of letting Seth back in, again.

Seeing Seth like that, letting the roles change, him embracing that desperate, brutal dominance… god, he was fucking hard  _thinking_  about it. He crushed the cigarette against the railing of the balcony, groaning out the word " _fuck"_  as he thought about it more. His thoughts switched over to the thought of having taken Seth against that wall, of forcing him to open up to him, but instead his brain changed it to him falling to his knees, looking up to Seth, begging him.

Dean Ambrose  _didn't fucking beg_.

He quickly hit his head against the railing, the soreness in his head ringing in his body. He tried to flex his hand in pain, but the swollen knuckles yelled back in pain. He was sore, and hung over, and horny, and his ass was still a little sore from being fucked, and  _who the fuck WAS he?_

"FUCK." He screamed out all his anger and confusion, desperately reaching for another cigarette, grasping wildly for the lighter. Just as he lit up, taking a drag with eyes rolling back, the cigarette hanging limply from his lips, he heard the screen door to the balcony open. He looked over, opening his eyes barely. Seth was standing there, low slung gym shorts and hair down in wild, sleep-sweaty curls.

_Fuck._ Dean sighed and leaned back against the balcony again, inhaling another drag of his cigarette, before looking down at the strip again. If you looked at it, you could see where its passion and its appeal would hide, but during the day, without the glamour, without the illusion… it was as if you couldn't recognize it anymore. He sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe moving here  _wasn't_  a whim as much as it was. He could hide amongst the smoke and liquor and whores and lights, but in the blatant, unforgiving sunlight? He couldn't hide from anyone.

He looked back over to Seth, closing his eyes, and inhaling another drag of the cigarette. Dean Ambrose was not a begging man, not a praying man, but he was begging, praying, someone,  _anyone_ , to just let him have a moment. Of what, he wasn't sure. But he'd like at least a moment of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh these boys. Specific warnings for this chapter: blood & self-harm. Stay safe, kids. Mood music: "Sleepwalking" and "And The Snakes Start To Sing" by Bring Me The Horizon.

It was hearing Dean scream out that really woke him up, but he'd been floating in and out of consciousness for a good ten or fifteen minutes. The room was quiet, and as much as Seth did not want to get out of this bed, because goddamn it was comfortable as hell, he should see where Dean was, and what self-destructive habit he may have decided to pick up today.

He sighed, closing his eyes. That was rude. He was still confused and upset and angry and he shouldn't have thought that. He slowly dragged himself out of the bed, stumbling over to Dean's dresser, finding some gym shorts to quickly throw on. He didn't even bother to do anything with his hair, sleep still hinting at his brain. He had just barely walked out of the bedroom and into the living room when he looked over and saw Dean outside, looking blissful and golden and  _no stop it._  He saw the cigarette hanging from his lips, saw his hair, dried at the roots but still damp at the edges, sandy blonde curling at random on his head, those hooded eyes closed, sitting back against the railing of the balcony, resting a hand on his stomach. He really was oddly beautiful, that thought had never changed, not since that time in the locker room.

Seth closed his eyes, smiling to himself at how it was as if the air had grown heavy, how time had stood still when Dean's lips had touched his. It was like he was waiting for some spark to ignite, and he had felt that moment again last night. It was a déjà vu he never intended on being witness to. Years later, in an apartment, seeing him weak and slumped against a wall, not frantic and bouncing around in a locker room. One thing never changed…the look in those eyes. The look that swallowed him down. It's what always pulled him back down, was the look that Dean could flash with just his eyes. It wasn't something taught, he was born with this eerie ability to lure people in, and that scared the shit out of Seth sometimes.

He looked back over at Dean, seeing that hand on his stomach move lower, until he finally had palmed at himself, grabbing the cigarette with his other hand and crushing it into the rail, biting his lip as he groaned something out. God, it was fucking  _hot_ , and Seth felt once more like he was intruding on a moment. It was still early morning, but seeing Dean like this, in nothing but jeans, smoking ( _when had he started that up again?_ ) and palming himself in the open air? Seth swallowed hard. It all went downhill from there, pretty quickly at that. Dean hit his head off of the rail, the hand on his crotch had moved to the concrete of the balcony, and he screamed out the word "FUCK." Any last remnants of sleep that fogged Seth's mind bled out.

He had just reached the door of the balcony when he saw Dean's head loll back, another cigarette resting on that full bottom lip, a brief look of orgasmic bliss flashing across his face before the sound of the sliding door had hit his ears. Seth closed the door behind him, leaning gently against the railing. He could feel Dean's eyes following him, until finally he had let out a sigh. "Let me guess…we need to talk?"

Seth shrugged, enjoying the dry heat of early morning in Vegas. He was in desperate need of a shower, of food, maybe some coffee, and some serious exercise, but right now staying like this, in this state of half-dress with Dean, just embracing the sunlight and post-makeup sex morning haze… it was kind of nice. A distraction that they both didn't need, but desperately craved. "We don't need to right now. It's still early." He knew they should, as long as they didn't discuss this, they'd play this cat and mouse game. He hummed to himself, drumming his fingers against the edge of the railing. He smirked to himself as he realized it was the song he had been listening to that night, years ago.

Dean watched, feeling as if a tape was rewinding inside his head. He knew what was happening, a record skip, a glitch in the Matrix, an itch at the back of his spine. This wasn't the same, but goddamn it was close. He stood up, the cigarette still on his lip dangling precariously, and slowly walked over to Seth. All roads led back to him and that body, those lips, those eyes. He finally had made his way over, taking one last large drag of the cigarette before flinging it off the balcony, blowing the smoke to the side. His voice had taken on that even raspier trait that his younger self would damn near chain-smoke to attain for a promo in the indies.

"How do we always find ourselves in this situation, Seth?" He wrapped some of the blonde hair on Seth's head, fried and frizzy, around his fingers, tugging lightly. Seth closed his eyes, cursing himself for finding himself pulled down again, but not really. Some sick little part of him enjoyed that chase, as toxic as it was. "Hmm? How do we always find ourselves back here? I'm always the one cornering you against a wall. You're always the one who makes my heart want to beat its way out of my fucking chest."

He grabs Seth's hand with his bruised and swollen one, in bitter mockery of their first kiss, and placed it over his bare chest. No barrier this time, the only way to feel deeper would be to actually force his hand through skin and muscle and bone. His chest pounded wildly, and Seth could feel it, he always could, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if it was because he didn't have words, or if he wanted to see how far this would push Dean. Both thoughts disturbed him.

Dean pulled Seth's hair back, making Seth's neck bend back, and pushed his hips against him, forcing him to bend slightly backward over the rail of the balcony. He could feel Seth steadily growing hard beneath him, grinding his hips into him slowly. The bit off moan that Seth let escape his lips made Dean's eyes shine briefly. "Oh, not much has changed since then Seth. See, early this morning, I may have begged for you like some desperate whore, but now…" He grinds his hips into Seth's harder, eliciting another groan from Seth. "Now, I can just leave you here, hard and wanting, bent backwards over a railing with the risk of falling, or I could drag you into the living room and fuck you against a wall. Whatever could I do…"

He pulled Seth back up quickly, snapping his head straight to look him in the eyes, before growling low enough to make Seth have to actively listen. "But unlike you, I won't drag shit out, and I won't make you fucking fall." With that, he kissed Seth the way he had last time, desperate, sucking the air out of his lungs, pulling at the roots of those thick curls, letting his fingers find comfort there. His other hand grasped Seth's hipbone, pulling him closer. He finally broke the kiss off, only to fling the sliding door open behind him, nearly tossing Seth inside.

Seth landed on the carpet of the living room, finding that he was stuck on some endless loop. The way that Dean walked over to him, he wasn't sure if Dean was going to fuck him or literally rip him to shreds. He'd seen that crazed look in his eyes back in FCW, and he'd seen it flashed at opponents in the ring, but never truly aimed at him. Sure, he had a playful, mischievous glance that would spell that his ass was grass, but nothing as menacing as this.

Dean knelt down, crawling on top of Seth, smirking when he saw Seth's eyes grow wide. "What's the matter Seth…do you not want this anymore?" He laid a gentle kiss on Seth's neck, feeling that pulse flutter under his lips.  _Yes good_. He pressed his hips down, just enough to feel Seth against him, but not enough to make any sort of pressure that would relieve Seth's wanting. "You have this terrible habit of acting like you want it, begging for it,  _whining for it_ , and right when it crawls inside of me, latching itself on…"

He sharply bites down on Seth's neck, making him whimper in pain beneath him, body squirming, clawing at his back. He releases his hold on his neck, moving his mouth back to Seth's ear. "Right when it latches itself on, you rip it the fuck out. But you never have any blood on your hands… You always run right before it gets messy."

Dean quickly gets up, leaving Seth laying on the ground, painfully hard and overwhelmingly confused and scared. He hears Dean rifling through some drawer in the kitchen, and then furious footsteps back into the living room. Dean comes back over to him, kneeling back down, but pulling Seth up by the back of his neck, forcing him to watch. Seth sees a flash of silver, and then it's like there's a three second delay in his brain as he watches Dean take a razorblade to his chest. Seth wasn't quite sure why there was one in the kitchen, and he had a dark, fearful thought, but shook it out of his head. The cut wasn't anything deep enough to do any serious damage, but enough to draw a few lines of blood over where his heart would be. The look of bliss on his face is astoundingly attractive and overwhelmingly disturbing all at once.

Dean drops the razor on the carpet, yet another slight blood stain to be washed out, and grabs Seth's hand again, forcing it over the bloody cuts. He presses his hand hard again, eyes wild. "Can you feel it now? Can you feel it, now that your hands are finally fucking bloody? Do you fucking see what you do to me?" He forces the hand against the cuts harder, moving his fingers back and forth to make sure the cuts are getting his fingers bloody enough.

"You can wash away all the blood you want. I know my walls weren't this clean before I fell asleep. You can hide the evidence of what's broken, you can keep a barrier as thin as skin between us, but don't you ever pretend like you don't know what you fucking do to me." Dean was nearly shaking he was so angry, he was so upset, he was so painfully fucking aroused. He knew he told people the pain didn't do anything for him, but oh  _god_  it did, he got such a goddamn rush off of it, the same type of rush that he'd get from the stupid amount of drugs he'd done in his youth.

Seth, on the other hand, felt as if some shadow had crept up his hand the minute that Dean forced his fingers to the bloody cuts on his chest. Dean wasn't exactly wrong, he did in fact run before it got messy. Which is what his intentions were last night, but… _well._  He looked up at Dean, seeing those eyes full on grey, hair falling in his eyes again, and Dean breathing heavily, a small smile from the pain flashing across his lips every time he dug Seth's fingers in deeper to his chest, into the cuts he made. He knew it was metaphor, but some small part of him feared that Dean would literally cut a hole in his chest to make Seth feel his heart.

Dean forced his hand away finally, quickly sucking one of Seth's fingers into his mouth, tasting his own blood mixed with the salt of Seth's skin. It was as if a shock of electricity flashed down Seth's spine to make him feel that on his dick. "You can wash as much blood as you want away. You can never wash  _me_  away. We're tied together now." He grabbed the razor again, making a small cut on Seth's chest, enough to just barely bleed, but that was the point. The blood.

Seth hissed at the pain of the blade in his chest, but when he felt Dean move his hand away, heard the blade fall to the ground again, and saw Dean collect the blood on his own chest on his fingers, sucking it into his mouth, and then lean in to kiss him, he could feel that air grow heavy around him again, felt the ticking of seconds slow down into infinity. He let Dean lick into his mouth, tasting the blood on his tongue. He felt Dean break away, and latch his mouth over the cut on his chest.

It was as if the stitches in his heart ripped to shreds under the blade, but were replaced with chains the moment his blood hit Dean's mouth. He knew it was just his overactive brain thinking in metaphor and symbolism again, but this was something he had never experienced before, and it was oddly ritual like. Whatever clean break, whatever closure that Seth had attempted with his sanitized motions last night, whatever gentle unfolding Seth had attempted this morning…those all fell over the side of that railing out on the balcony. Dean reacted to pain. Seth reacted to silence.

Both echoed loudly in the living room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, these boys.
> 
> Music: "Bayonetwork: Vultures In Vivid Color" by Norma Jean, "Rocket Skates" by Deftones, and "Deathbeds" by Bring Me The Horizon. Seriously you guys, if you haven't listened to the album Sempiternal by Bring Me The Horizon, I highly suggest you do. It basically screams Ambrollins.
> 
> More warnings for blood play & knife play in this. Keep yourselves safe.
> 
> Thank you all for your kind words on this. Reviews make me a happy Rae.

Dean finally moved his mouth away from Seth's chest, a slight smear of blood on the side of his mouth. That crazed look in his eyes tugged at Seth's spine, it was as if it reached right through his solar plexus, making him bend. Seth wanted to lick that blood off of his mouth, knowing it was his own. It was a much more morbid version of how he'd kiss Dean after he would suck him off, that strange possessiveness of tasting himself on Dean's lips.

How did he ever think this was going to end cleanly, if at all? He could feel those metaphorical chains in his chest wrap up and around his neck, strangling him. Only it didn't hurt, it was a good ache, he wanted more of it.

Maybe Dean wasn't the only one with addictive tendencies.

And giving into temptation seemed to be a consistent theme with them.

Seth wrapped his legs around Dean, watching Dean's grin grow, before flipping them over so that Dean was the one on his back. Seth took the position to his advantage, leaning down to lick that blood off of the side of his mouth, before kissing Dean again, a little bit slower and deeper.

It was like some sort of switch had gone off in the back of his brain, he wasn't recognizing what he was doing, and yet his body started to pilot itself, going through the motions. It was if his body had been possessed the moment that Dean's blood had touched his tongue.

"Dean…do you ever think that maybe I never told you I could feel it, for a reason? That maybe I just wanted to see how long it would take you before you finally snapped?" He kissed at his neck, feeling Dean wrap an arm around his back. Seth shifted his hips, pressing into Dean just a bit harder, moaning as he initiated the next challenge, so to speak. "That maybe, maybe I just like seeing how long it takes before you rip into me? That maybe I like that chase?"

He smiled into Dean's neck as he felt his arm move from around his back, a hand grasping tightly into the back of his hair. Dean wasn't the only one who got off on the pain - he was just more obvious about it. Seth hissed as Dean pulled tighter, gritting out, "tell me what you want Seth."

He knew it was dangerous to play like this, but fuck it, they were both sinking slowly, and he'd had enough of having to tiptoe around what he desired. "Do I really need to tell you, or can't you figure it out?"

Dean groaned, bringing Seth's lips to his own, biting sharply at Seth's bottom lip. "Unless you want me to tear you apart right here, get your ass in the room."

Seth didn't need any more encouragement after that. He stood up slowly, reaching a hand out to help Dean up from the floor. Once more, Dean pushed him against the wall, but this time, Seth laughed, low and throaty. "God, I always fall for it."

"Every time."

Dean reached his hand down, working underneath the elastic of the gym shorts to grab Seth's length in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the head, feeling the precum spreading with every swirl he made against. He smiled against Seth's lips as he kissed him, slow and lazy, as he stroked Seth, tightly but with no rush.

"I couldn't wait. Sorry."

He kisses Seth once more, a quick peck on his lips, and removed his hand from beneath the shorts, before sinking to his knees, pulling the shorts down with him. He looked over on the carpet, seeing the razor sitting there, and grinned darkly. He reached for it, and made a small, shallow cut against Seth's thigh. He dropped the blade again, latching his mouth to the cut, sucking at it, tasting the blood on his lips, and wrapped a hand around Seth again, jerking him faster. The entire sensation of it, it knocked Seth out of his body for a moment. The feel of Dean's hand around him, hard and rough, while his hot and wet mouth was locked on his thigh, licking and sucking over the cut he made, so sharp and quick…

He would have fallen apart right there from just that. He was wound so tightly, and the steady bleeding out of his anger and frustration only added more fuel to the flame at the base of his spine. But Dean broke away from his leg, gasping, and Seth had to look down, watching him as he wiped at his mouth, his hair still falling in his eyes, no matter how much he tried brushing it back.

Dean looked up at Seth, smiling, his lips red from the kissing and the blood, before wrapping them around him, sucking him quickly, in the absolutely filthy way that he did. He'd move his tongue back and forth, laughing when Seth always reached a hand down to thread into his hair, the vibrations making him grip tighter. He also knew that he'd use maybe just a bit too much spit, but he'd make up for it by using just a bit more suction. It would take care of itself, generally.

Seth had been watching Dean, watched as his lips were wrapped around him, watched as Dean's eyes would flick up every now and then to meet his. And then finally, Seth closed his eyes, feeling that pull at the base of his spine, Dean swallowing him down as he fell apart at the seams again. Dean stood back up slowly, tipping Seth's face up with a finger, kissing him gently. Seth sighed when Dean finally opened the kiss, and once again, Seth could taste himself on Dean's lips.

Seth had to break the kiss, leaning his head back on the wall. "Fuck, I love you."

Dean chuckled, kissing at Seth's neck. "I know you do. You wouldn't still be here if you didn't. You wouldn't have come here last night if you didn't." He pressed a gentle kiss on Seth's lips, before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom.

"It's my turn."

* * *

Dean had made short work of getting Seth ready, fucking him with two lubed fingers, his mouth back over the cut he had made on his thigh, sucking at it, knowing that no blood would come forth but it was still the thought that mattered.

Once Seth was desperately grasping at his hair, Dean had moved his mouth away, and pulled his fingers out, before pushing himself in, thrusting shallowly at first, going deeper only when Seth would beg, "please, stop fucking around…" He had to give in, he  _had_  said please.

He thrust into him hard enough to bruise the both of them, but would intersperse them with those soft, shallow thrusts that drove Seth crazy. He couldn't rely on a steady rhythm to get off to, and Dean loved to make Seth squirm like this.

He looked down at the cut he had made on Seth's chest, seeing it start to slightly scab over. That couldn't happen, not yet. He dug his thumbnail into the cut, and scraped along the length of it, making it freshly bleed anew. Seth went to hiss in pain, but suddenly Dean's mouth was locked back over the cut, a hand finding its way to rest at the base of Seth's throat, while he fucked into him, almost as if the potential of tasting his blood had fueled him to go harder and faster.

Seth rested his own hand over Dean's, urging him silently to maybe…possibly… Dean could sense it, and very slightly tightened his grip on Seth's throat. Seth didn't think he could cum again, not this soon, but it still felt good, and when Dean finally let his mouth go from Seth's chest, and instead buried his teeth in Seth's neck, moving his hand away to hold tightly to his hips, Seth just let go. Feeling Dean's weight on top of him, it grounded him, which was ironic, considering a day and a half ago he was running from that very thought.

It only took a few more thrusts, desperate and deep, before Dean was orgasming hard. He had started to say something, but Seth could only make out "I… _fuck…_ " before it had devolved into a groan. He thought he knew what Dean was going to say, so he didn't question it. Dean placed a few soft kisses along his neck and shoulder, before pulling out, and resting his head on Seth's chest, gently brushing his fingers over the cut on his chest.

* * *

Seth looked in the mirror of the bathroom, still foggy in most parts from the shower he had taken, but in the small section he had wiped clear, he could see that red line on his chest, where Dean had cut to bring up blood, but instead let out so much more. He traced a finger over it, and while there was no blood on his finger, he still tentatively sucked the finger into his mouth, as if he could taste the emotions instead.

He finally had to take a shower, after the insanity of the past night and morning. Between being covered in tears, blood, some alcohol, sweat, more blood, and even some cum; after being sliced and after fucking Dean and after being fucked by Dean, he was sore. He was exhausted. He was incredibly hungry, and he had postponed a conversation that he…he didn't really know if he wanted to have anymore. He knew the reasons were stupid, he didn't know where they were standing currently, but he knew that this was different than last time. It didn't look like it on the surface, but something changed this morning when Dean had asked him to fuck him. That never happened. Ever.

That had to mean something was different, right?

He stretched, feeling some of the tension in his back and shoulders leaving, a rewarding popping of his shoulder making him groan slightly. He pulled his hair back, motivating himself silently to go out of the bathroom and just get the conversation over with. It's not going to be going in the original direction anyways, it should be fine, or at least that's what he told himself.

He opened the bathroom door, padding into the bedroom, seeing that where he had left Dean, who had been half asleep and well fucked, on the bed was now empty. And the sheets were gone.  _Well, at least those are getting washed now._  He sighed, and headed out to the kitchen. He looked over at the top of the dresser, realizing he had left his phone there from last night after he texted Roman.

He had three missed calls, and nine texts waiting for him. Great.

He quickly listened to the voice messages, all from Roman asking what was going on, why wasn't he answering, so on and so forth. He deleted them all, knowing that the text messages were probably going to say the same thing.

_\- Seth, you need to be careful. -_

_\- I know how you get about him. You worry about him, so do I, but enough is enough. -_

_\- If he's ok, just leave. You said it yourself. -_

_\- You stayed the night didn't you? Goddamnit. -_

_\- I hope you know what you got yourself into now. -_

_\- Just, please, please be careful._

_\- I worry about the both of you. -_

_\- Goddamnit Seth can you please just call me or text me or something and let me know you're ok? -_

_\- …at least make sure he takes care of you this time? -_

Seth closed his eyes, sighing, before sending a few texts back.

_\- I'm ok, he's ok. I stayed the night. Shit happened. We're gonna talk today. -_

-  _I'll let you know what happens after. Just trust me on this? -_

_\- I didn't realize how bad it was until last night. -_

_\- And don't worry, he has been. -_

He locked the phone, placing it back on the dresser, and grabbed a pair of sweatpants to wear. This was the problem with unexpected sleepovers - no clothes of your own. He made his way out into the living room, seeing Dean sitting on the couch, back in those low-slung jeans, but he at least decided to put on a plain black t-shirt this time.  _How considerate of him_.

Dean looked up, and grinned. "I kind of like seeing you wear my clothes. Yours are in the pile to get washed." Seth had nodded, putting a hand to his stomach when he felt it grumble. Dean laughed, and stood up, walked over to Seth and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. "Come on, let's get some food. And then we'll talk."

"Oh, uh…we don't, we don't need to anymore." Seth was nervous, he really didn't want to have this conversation now; he had basically destroyed every argument he had justified in his head, and had done so with blood on his tongue and moans on his lips. If he tried to explain himself now, he'd realize just how foolish he had been, and that would make him feel so much worse about putting Dean through this.

Dean looked down at him, his face going hard for just a moment, before smiling. "No. No I think we need to."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter took a little bit longer to come to fruition than I would have liked, but it worked out for the best, I find. Music for the chapter is "One Of Us Is The Killer" by The Dillinger Escape Plan. Once more, reviews make me a happy Rae. Thank you for all of the love and support.

"You know you're going to have to tell me eventually, right?"

They were sitting in the kitchen, working their way through some Chinese takeout that Seth knew was absolutely not part of his diet, but that Dean didn't seem to really care about either way. Dean was staring right at Seth, who was awkwardly poking at his lo mein noodles, not looking up at him. Dean sighed, shaking his head, before ripping off a piece of beef teriyaki with his teeth.

Seth finally spoke up, if speaking up is what you would call it. It was more of a nervous murmur, one that required Dean to stop chewing and lean in to hear. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

He's answered with a loud sigh. "I said, it was stupid."

"Well, obviously not, if you followed through with it to the extreme that you did." There's a slight hint of bitterness that Seth feels slap at him, a gentle smack on the cheek in more mockery than actual anger. Seth knew he shouldn't have taken the bait, he knew that this is how every argument with them started, but then again, he was stuck on an endless loop with Dean.

"Yeah. Yeah I did. But I came back."

Dean swallowed his food, humming his acknowledgement. "Yeah. You still  _left_  though. So cut the shit and tell me why. I at least deserve that much."

Seth let his fork hit the plate with an irritating  _clang_. "That.  _That's_  why. You fly off the fucking handle over the stupidest shit, you have this massive fucking chip on your shoulder about goddamn  _everything_. You are absolutely infuriating sometimes. You're so goddamn needy. If you aren't getting attention every five minutes you act out like a goddamn toddler. You can never have a serious conversation without trying to crack some joke, and you always find some way to goad me into an argument!"

Seth's voice had raised a little, and Dean watched him with this obnoxiously amused smirk on his face, ripping at more of the beef teriyaki.

"And you still came back." He swallowed again.

"Didn't your mother tell you to not talk with your mouth full?" Seth felt his face pale slightly at the mention of Dean's mother, but Dean seemed to ignore it, thank god.

"And didn't your mother tell you to not get wrapped up with bad boys? You knew full and well that Roman could have saved my ass last night, but no…you  _insisted_  on seeing me, he told me you know. So you either have some serious savior complex going on, or you felt bad. Maybe both. I'm not sure. But you came back. So obviously you weren't so convinced as you thought."

Seth just sits there, glaring at Dean, unable to form the words that best illustrate his absolute frustration at him. He looks at him,  _really_  looks at him, and tries to reason with his brain and his heart - and even his cock - as to what the hell is so enticing about this actual grown child. On a shallow, physical level, he knew that Dean was attractive. The mobs of fans pining for Dean made it clear that he was good looking, and he'd have to agree. Fluffy, haphazard curls that ranged from sandy to strawberry blonde on his head, incredibly hooded blue-gray eyes that in the right light turned a little green, and those god awful dimples. He never doubted the physical attraction.

He wanted to know what it was that made him fall in love with him, and so irrevocably in love at that.

He wasn't even really that much into guys in the first place, not really, not like that. He'd appreciate how they looked, he'd acknowledge that much, but it was different for Dean and he didn't know why, and that bothered him. How could he justify leaving him when he couldn't justify why he stayed in the first place?

He went to scratch at his chest, pausing when he realized the itch was the healing of the cut that Dean had made. His fingers stayed momentarily before dropping down to rest on his leg, clenching slowly into a fist.

"You bring out the worst in me, you know."

Dean shrugged, looking down at his hands, as if he were inspecting his nails.

"I like to think I bring out the best in you, personally. I think you're much more true to yourself when you're all worked up. You get this weird energy around you, it's fucking addicting, you know that? It fucking smothers everything around it, it takes hold of everything. You get all twitchy, you're jumping around like you're going to just burst loose into some sort of flame or electricity or something, and it's this weirdly beautiful thing to watch. Watching you get angry, watching you listen to that music of yours, watching you when we're fucking…" Dean smirks, combing his fingers back through his hair, huffing in annoyance when one of the curls comes defiantly back to hang in front of his face. "I think that's when you're the most real. Because you just let go of all of the bullshit."

Dean smiled a large, cheesy grin, before ripping into the last part of the beef teriyaki. He jammed the skewer the meat had been on into the Styrofoam container he had been eating out of, leaning back against the chair, swallowing the food down. "And hey, listen, I know I'm kind of a dick…"

"Kind of?"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to apologize here."

Seth went to say something, but caught himself, and closed his mouth slowly, a look of slight confusion on his face.

"Like I was saying. I know I'm kind of a dick. I've got all my issues and shit, and whatever, and I know it pisses you off that I don't talk about them, and I guess I can see why now, being on the other side of it. I'm sorry that you felt like you had to go running away or whatever, but the fact that you came back, that means something to me. I know you usually don't say or do things lightly, and hell I don't either, but you went back on your promise, twice. You promised to never leave…but you also said you weren't coming back. So, which one is it?"

Seth sighed, pushing his plate of food away from him. He had lost his appetite, his stomach having been tied into knots over this conversation.

"I meant what I said. I can't leave you."

"Good to know." Dean looked up at Seth, and placed his hand on the table, palm up.

Seth rolled his eyes slightly, placing his hand in Dean's. It reminded him of the first time they had hung out as  _more than_  whatever the hell they were, with Dean freezing when Seth had grabbed his hand, before relaxing into the touch, and then not letting go of his hand the rest of the night. He was not one for serious displays of any sort of affection, which is why the past 24 hours had been so strange for Seth.

"So, now what?"

Seth had meant that question to be about them and their relationship. Dean took it literally. "I don't know. I could honestly fall asleep right now." He moved his hand so their fingers interlaced, rubbing his thumb along Seth's. Seth felt the sparks again, flickering around whatever shadow had originally crept up his arm.

He wasn't the only one who was electric.

* * *

Dean had passed out on the couch, face first into the cushions. Seth took the time to grab his phone and head out onto the balcony, dialing Roman's number. It rang a few times, until finally he heard that low voice on the other end. "Took you damn long enough."

"I know. I'm sorry Rome."

"So, what the hell happened?"

Seth sighed, telling Roman about how he had rushed over to their…Dean's… _their_  apartment to make sure he wasn't dead, having found him bleeding and drunk and crying. He skimmed over the sexual tension, told him about how Dean had started crying again, and then how he had cleaned him up and put him to bed.

"And that's when I texted you."

"Yeah. I know that part. Dean told me that part. What you aren't telling me is what happened after you passed out next to him…"

Seth groaned, forgetting that Dean had told Roman in very minimal detail what happened as well. "Well…"

"Well,  _what_."

"Well, we…"

"You fucked, didn't you."

"I wouldn't have called it fucking that time, to be honest with you."

"You say that as if it's happened more than once…"

"…"

"…Seth…"

"Oh god, please don't talk to me like a kid."

"No, you're a grown ass man and should know the fuck better. You left  _for a reason_."

"And I came back  _for a reason_."

"Seth, guilt is not a reason."

Seth had slumped down on the cement of the balcony, an echo of how he had found Dean that morning. He looked down at the phone for a moment, doing his best to not let his anger get the best of him and fling it off of the balcony. He took a few deep breaths and put it back to his ear.

"Rome. It's not guilt. It's regret."

He heard Roman sigh, one of resignation and possible irritation. "Fine. Fine, Seth. You know I worry about the both of you, I'm just…I'm just kind of confused on what is going on with you two. One minute you're storming out with all of your shit, another minute he's drunk and crying and bleeding everywhere, the next minute you're there patching him up and… I just can't catch up with you two, and it's kind of frustrating because I can't help you two if you don't know where the fuck you stand."

"You're telling me. I don't know where we stand either. All I know is that I told him I can't leave him again, I never could leave him, and I think that might be the one honest thing I've come to terms with since last night."

"Well, then I don't know what to tell you, because it was only a few weeks ago that you were saying that you couldn't  _stay_  with him. You need to clear your head and think rationally about this before you go making any more rash decisions. You're going to hurt Dean again, and honestly, I don't think I could stand to hear him the way he was before."

"I think it'd hurt me more than him, to be honest."

"Then you don't know him as well as you think."

* * *

Seth had stayed out on the balcony, watching the lights on the Vegas strip turn on, a sleazier version of watching the street light up with Christmas lights. It was still breathtaking watching each bulb flicker before glowing in the darkness of the night, but the meaning behind it wasn't the same. Seth wondered, sadly, if Dean had ever gotten to witness a Christmas like that.

He didn't really know much about Dean's past; he never talked about it, and he hadn't pressed the issue. Maybe Roman was right. Maybe he  _didn't_  know Dean as well as he thought. For some reason, that hurt his insides, a slow and twisting burn.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feel of arms wrapping around him and a kiss to his shoulder. "I'm surprised you didn't head back to your hotel room to grab clothes."

These little moments of intimacy always threw Seth for a loop. He was used to the passion, the aggression, the blood sweat and tears. But this gentleness, this begging and pleading, these soft touches and kisses, it was a side of Dean he hadn't seen, and it confused his body even more. That slow burn became a sharper sting.

"You're awfully quiet right now. What's up?"

"I talked to Roman today. Finally."

"How'd that go?"

"Let's not talk about it."

"That bad, huh?"

Seth sighed, leaning his head back against Dean's body, humming when Dean kissed his forehead again. He had all of this tension in his body growing, his uncertainty at where his life was going, where this…whatever-they-were was going. He didn't realize he was shaking until Dean tightened his hold around him and whispered in his ear.

"What do you need?"

God, how did he always know? How did he know when to step in and take care of him, when he couldn't even reciprocate? How could he read him like a book, when he felt like there were facets of Dean he'd never be able to access, not without digging his way inside of him?

"Seth. Let me take care of you. It's the least I can do after last night."

Seth had to close his eyes at that. It stung more than the razor marks on his skin. Dean's hand had moved towards his chest, trailing a finger across the cut he had left.

"What do you need, Seth. Tell me."

_To know what is going on. To get some answers. To feel something._

"To feel something."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys, sorry this took forever (at least to me it felt like forever) to update. This story is really emotionally draining to write, plus I have to find the right music to get the emotions that I'm looking for. Plus, there may or may not be a thing involving this specific chapter happening, who knows.
> 
> Music: "Underneath It All" Nine Inch Nails, "The Space In Between" How To Destroy Angels, and "Is Your Love Strong Enough?" How To Destroy Angels. Essentially, this chapter is brought to you by Trent Reznor.
> 
> Reviews are what makes the world go 'round.

"What do you need, Seth. Tell me."

Dean had asked it out of sheer curiosity, because this weekend, so far, had been about what he needed, and what he wanted, and what fleeting parts of them he could still grasp onto. He had been feeling everything and nothing at once, thoughts churning in time with his stomach, and the end result had left him bloodied but with Seth back here.

How selfish of him.

So whenever Seth replied, "to feel something," one of the knots in his stomach that had loosened over the past 24 hours started to reform, tighter than before. Had he been ignoring what Seth needed? He didn't think so, not with the way that he and Seth made each other unravel to only put each other back together.

Dean realized that there was always some sense of reciprocation required. Wow, he really  _was_  incredibly selfish. Maybe Seth was right. Maybe he did focus on his needs more than anyone else. He traced his fingers along the cuts on Seth's chest again, kissing at his neck, closing his eyes tightly. He didn't know where to start with Seth, he didn't know what to give him.

"What do you need to feel? I need to know, so I can get you there, or at least try."

"Fuck, I don't know. Nothing. Everything. Something. I just need to fucking  _feel_  something. I just feel… blank. Desperate."

"Alright. Shit… alright."

* * *

Seth didn't know where this aching emptiness inside him came from, but it picked a hell of a time to show up. The past 24 hours had been an emotional rollercoaster, and he knew that a lot of what he had said and done, both in leaving and in coming back, was driven by heart and not by head, the very thing he accused Dean of when he left. He said it was his weakness, that he had no common sense, that he went blindly into everything with passion, and while in some cases it worked in his favor, he would otherwise burn himself out, he'd hurt himself past repair, and he couldn't stand back and watch that anymore.

And here he was, grasping at sheets as Dean gently worked a finger inside of him, rubbing at his back, trailing fingers over the tattoo on his spine, murmuring to him, "that's it, tell me when you need more." That was the problem though. He  _always_  needed more.

He gasped out that it was ok for another finger, and when he felt the stretch, he buried his face in the pillow, appreciating the fleeting moments of sensation sending sparks down his limbs. It wasn't the constant thrumming, that slow burn, that he needed, but it was a start, and if he had to light himself on fire, he would, as long as Dean was the one holding the match.

Dean watched the tension in the muscles of Seth's back, seeing how he seemed to be clenching his fists into the sheet, nearly smothering himself with the pillow. Out of sheer curiosity, he dragged his nails down the length of Seth's spine, and the noise that had escaped from his throat was the answer that Dean needed to pursue this further. "Do you need me to be rough or not."

"I don't know."

"What do you want to feel, Seth?"

"Fuck, I don't know, just fucking  _something_."

Dean shook his head, eyes closed, not wanting to aggravate the situation. So, instead, he worked another finger inside, the groan that spilled onto the pillow a good sign. He worked his fingers a bit more roughly, placing pressure right where it would strike against his prostate, he knew Seth would fall apart, and as soon as he stroked his fingers inside again, one of Seth's arms gave out.  _Excellent_.

Dean slowly pulled his fingers out, the muffled, disappointed whine of Seth's making him smirk. "Relax…" He wiped his hand on the towel he had grabbed - planning ahead this time - before placing more lube on his hand to coat himself with. He'd gone without a condom this time, which he knew was probably not the smartest decision he'd ever made, but he'd made plenty worse. He lined himself up, pushing in slowly, half in an attempt to appreciate the feel of nothing between them, the other half in an attempt to elicit some sort of response from Seth.

Seth had only let out a harsh breath, because he had been biting his lip, trying to get some feeling in his system. He knew he had burnt himself out, giving his everything to Dean, and it was like he had borrowed against energy and emotion that he didn't have at the time. He was running on a negative, and nothing in the world seemed to be enough to balance him, let alone fill him back up. Dean being flush against him, hard and warm inside of him, that seemed to be part of the solution.

Dean thrust shallowly a few times, before laying himself over Seth's back, grabbing one of his fists, wrapping his hand over it. He pried his fingers in between Seth's, releasing the tense grip, instead entwining their fingers. "Let go, Seth."

The change in angle already made some sort of twinge shoot up Seth's neck and back down his throat, a strange current of energy he wanted to cling to. "Don't make me beg, Dean." Dean nodded, knowing what Seth meant. This wasn't the time for teasing, this was a time for rebuilding, or something to that effect. Dean wasn't sure, all he knew is that he was feeling some sort of fire burning in him, low in his body, almost the base of his spine, white hot, and not the way he would if he was near cumming. This was a different type of energy, a different type of fire, and something was guiding him to give that to Seth.

He wanted to be gentle. Seth deserved gentle. After the rough emotions and the blood and the tears, he deserved this comfort. But that odd, burning, white light in his body needed to be forced into him, to break up the shadow he had felt creep around the both of them, and it had to be pushed inside him, or else it would burn at his insides again. He couldn't argue with the energy thrumming in his body as he snapped his hips against Seth, feeling some of that energy bleed out of him.

It was as if tendrils, some sort of aura,  _something_ , had made their way off of Dean to wrap around Seth, digging at his chest, trying to burrow its way in. The chink in his armor was the cuts on his chest, a small opening but one nonetheless. The fire that Dean had felt at the bottom of his spine was now in Seth, resting just as uncomfortably there as it did within Dean.

It seemed with each thrust, it would move up both of their spines, but the other didn't know. It would burn at their stomach, become sharp stinging at their ribs, and when it hit their chests, it lit the chains that connected their hearts on fire. Whatever feeling that Seth had been looking for, this  _had_  to be it, Dean reckoned, because whatever he was feeling had to be an echo of it. All he could see when he closed his eyes were sparks and colors and any shadow, any doubt, any ill that he had felt in that moment was starting to bleed away, was starting to be pulled from him.

Seth was wiping him clean.

Seth, on the other hand, could feel the energy swirling along his spine, up towards his head, causing a fantastic burning in his stomach, his heart clenching as if an extra beat made its way into the rhythm, before pulsing up into his throat as a moan. His head ached, his eyes burned from keeping them clenched and from the tears that were forming. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, but goddamnit it seemed to be doing the job, at least for now. He felt clear, he felt a resonating emptiness that wasn't pain but contentment.

When Dean bit down on his shoulder, groaning as he started to spill inside of him, it was as if the flame shot up his spine again from root to head, and he couldn't form words, nonsensical sounds dripping from his lips as Dean desperately wrapped a hand around his hard length, his grip firm as he brought Seth over the edge, basking in a glow that he swore had wrapped itself around the both of them, still connected. The chains started to burn away, melting in that strange light they both unconsciously felt. It felt like cords, ones that could stretch across time and space without snapping. It didn't hurt.

Nothing hurt at this point.

Dean kissed gently between his shoulder blades, and it brought him out of the meditative haze he had unwittingly found himself in. He smiled lazily, slumping his face back into the pillow, groaning as Dean slid out.

"Come on, let's take a shower…"

* * *

The shower had been mainly gentle kisses and caresses, interspersed with washing each other's hair and bodies, before succumbing to slow, lazy frottage, Dean's large hand wrapping around the both of them with ease. Neither of them were desperate for orgasm any time soon, there was just a crackling energy between them, rainbow sparks whenever they touched, and it was nearly impossible to break them apart.

Dean licked over the healing cuts on Seth's chest, before making his way to his neck, nipping gently before murmuring into his skin.

"What was that?" Seth barely could speak himself, the tranquility of the moment muffling his already arousal-heavy voice.

"I said I love you."

"I know you do."

Dean hummed into his shoulder, and maintained the slow strokes, sighing against him. He wanted to give Seth everything, he'd cut open his chest and give him his heart if that's what he needed to do. He'd been trying since the beginning, trying to dig his heart out with Seth's hand, to make him feel the blood and sinew, but he felt like it would never be enough, not for him.

He was glad that the water was still warm in the shower. He could hide the tears easier.

* * *

The shower had ended with breathy moans and lazy kisses, shaking limbs and fingers entwined with each other's. Once more they found each other on the balcony, the cacophony of light and sound acting in counterpoint to the tranquility of them lounging back against the railing of the balcony, a cigarette perched on Dean's lip. Seth looked over at him, seeing the smoke trail slowly from Dean's mouth when he pulled the cigarette away, blowing the smoke up to shroud his face momentarily. Seth debated taking a drag of the cigarette himself, just to revel in that same burn with Dean, but he had already broken enough personal rules as is.

Dean smiled, just enough to have a dimple show slightly, before stubbing out the cigarette on the concrete. "So, are you feeling better?"

"I don't feel as hollow as I did before."

"…you felt hollow?"

Seth looked over to see Dean blinking, his smile fading, and Seth sighed. He knew explaining this would be odd, which is why he never usually brought it up.

"It's not you, honestly. It's just some weird way that I'm wired. I get really riled up with emotions and energy, which is why you see me get really amp in the ring or in the car or whatever. I listen to this really loud, screaming music, full of aggression and energy, because I can filter it through me, I can channel it, and I can live off of that adrenaline for as long as it will let me. But after a while, I run out. And you'd never know it with the way I'm constantly going, it seems like I can't ever sit still for more than five minutes, I always have to do something, start some new venture, find some new Crossfit box…" He winked at Dean, who laughed and shook his head, before nodding.

"You're like the goddamn Energizer bunny sometimes, I don't know how you do it."

"That's the thing though. I'm  _not_  like that, I burn myself out, but I wait until I'm not only on empty, but I'm in the red. I leave myself kind of weak and fragile sometimes, and…"

"And that's when you feel hollow. I get it. I was the same way…different reason, different causes, but I feel you on that. So what, do you need to recharge or whatever?"

"Yeah, exactly. I have to recharge, and that's why sometimes you just infuriate me, because I feel like you burn me out. But then I sort of realized that it was me putting the blame on you, and not me recognizing that I need to know when to step back and stop."

Dean nodded, looking straight ahead, seeing the expanse of the strip before the darkness of the sky. "You know if you ever need anything, I can help."

"Dean, you've given me more than enough. In fact, sometimes I think you give me  _too_  much…"

"I haven't given you enough at all. I feel like nothing would be enough for you, not what I want to give you. You've said it yourself, we have this strange electricity between us, everything seems to catch on fire, whenever we're fighting or fucking or not even doing anything except sitting next to each other. Whatever it is, it's potent and it makes me feel like I could bleed myself fucking dry for you, I'd jump into the goddamn ocean for you, and it wouldn't be enough to fill whatever emptiness you may feel."

Seth turned to look at him, not sure where this admission was coming from, because Dean always seemed pretty aloof with his feelings, especially ones as deep as these.

"Hey. Dean. Look at me."

Dean turned to look at him, anxiously flexing his fingers, trying to crack his knuckles.

"Your love is enough."

"It wasn't before. Why would it be now? I'm the one who made you hollow. How would that be enough for you now?"

Seth looked down, turning his head away and biting his lip. He nodded sadly, not sure of what answer to give Dean. He glanced over to see Dean resting his head against the railing, looking up at the sky and the few stars that weren't smothered by the Vegas lights. Seth reached a hand out for Dean to hold, and nudged his thigh with it. Dean looked down and then over to Seth, who nodded his head as if to say it were ok. Dean placed his hand in Seth's, and it seemed to be a silent agreement.

They'd figure out how to make it enough.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Song for this is "Sick" by Chelsea Wolfe. Reviews make me a happy Rae.

They played this game the whole weekend, tiptoeing around the severity of their emotions and the gaping chasm of where they were and where healthy relationships were. Watching television, a hand would graze the other's arm, and the chills ran as sharp as knives, making hair stand at the back of their necks. What little they had talked about had clarified so much and yet shrouded so many more secrets.

Dean wondered how often Seth made himself hollow over him. How often he burned himself out pouring all his loving and devotion and caring into trying to fix him. That was the problem, though. Seth tried so hard, so fucking hard, to try and fix something in Dean. What Dean had couldn't be fixed. Trust him, lord, he had tried.

He lay there, watching Seth asleep against the sheets - why had Seth picked white sheets, he still didn't know - and saw that for the first time this weekend, Seth seemed to breathe easily. Dean was glad that at least someone in this apartment could. He, instead, had lain there staring at the ceiling, letting his thoughts get the best of him once more. He had done a good job of letting them scream themselves into oblivion, of tiring themselves out, of not acknowledging them, letting them pass through. His world had sort of turned inside out, his emotions felt flayed and salted, and everything stung in a way that was bitter and yet exhilarating.

Seth was the one who wanted to feel something, and Dean was the one who felt too goddamn much.

He wished he could make everything hurt less for Seth, and  _god_ , how fucking selfish had he been, making this all about him, acting as if Seth leaving only hurt him. He couldn't get over how much of a fucking moron he was, and he knew that if he stayed within the self-imposed prison that his rather bland apartment was, he was going to snap, and he didn't want Seth to be witness to that, not again, not so soon.

He gently eased out of bed, throwing on the first pair of jeans and boots he could find, grabbing his jacket from over the door. He went into the kitchen, grabbed the "emergency" cigarettes that had now become his crutch, and scribbled out a note to be left on the counter. He grabbed the keys, and looked behind him, sighing, before closing the door.

He decided to drive out into the desert like he usually did when he needed a mental vacation. The Vegas strip was nice, but after a while the lights and sound became just as jarring and discordant in his brain as the rest of his thoughts. Here, in the silent darkness of cacti and sand, he could sit on the hood of his car and just  _be_.

He'd usually bring headphones and listen to music, but he wanted to hear the thoughts this time, he wanted to give them the floor, instead of just pushing them away like he had always done. So he found his usual spot, a particular expanse of desert that for some reason he felt he melted into better than the rest, that there was a rift of time and space built specifically for him, since  _no one_  ever bothered him here, and pulled over, stopping the car.

He sat there for a few moments, resting his head against the steering wheel, deep but ragged breaths the only sound he could hear. Absolutely bleak and desolate. He tended to enjoy the things in life that he felt he couldn't absolutely destroy because they were already a void when he got to them. Seth, unfortunately, seemed to relish in becoming that void for him.

"Fuck."

He had felt the warm wetness of tears on his face before he realized he had started crying. He had cried more in the past weekend than he had in his entire fucking  _life_ , and that bothered him, ate at him, made him realize just how far he had let Seth in. He knew that if Seth asked, Dean really would cut himself wide open, to let Seth crawl inside, to take grasp of his heart and his lungs and his spine and claim them as his, to tattoo his initials like a brand, to mark him as his and only his, and Dean would do it with a smile on his face. Seth thought he needed to feel something, and Dean didn't know how much more he could make it obvious to Seth. Dean could feed him emotions for days, but would it ever be enough for Seth? Would Dean have to become hollowed out in order for Seth to be content, for once?

Dean didn't think he had it in him. Not for lack of trying, not for not wanting to do so. He just had tried to hide his emotions for way too long, and all he had gotten out of it was failed friendships and drug addictions. Those are scars on the body just as bad as a blade, and as he itched absentmindedly at the ones he left on himself on his chest, he felt the need for the burn of a cigarette.

The smoke in his lungs, the comforting light weight on his lips, maybe even the embers on his skin, who knew anymore. Self-harm seemed to become a part of existence for him, career wise it was easy to ignore a burn or a bruise or a scar. You can just say you got it from a match, and people ignored it.

He didn't do it often enough to consider it a problem, shit, he never really considered it  _self-harm_. He just considered it sort of akin to leeching, only without the gross slimy horror of a fucking leech. Just skimming the excess anger and aggression and frustration and  _fucking what else_  off the top. There was a reason why he didn't wear trunks in the ring anymore.

But looking down at the cigarette that he had lit, staring in the orange glow at the tip, he couldn't do it. He couldn't do that to Seth, to have him find another mark. He knew that his method of coping was only drawing the energy out of Seth, and not out of him, like he intended. He always fucked it up, the paths always converged, he could never get it right.

He finally got out of the car, closing the door behind him, before getting onto the hood of the car and leaning back, looking up at the dark Nevada sky and seeing nothing but stars and the lights of airplanes. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the feeling of that warm, white energy he had felt with Seth. That burning light up his spine.

He didn't believe in much that was esoteric or spiritual or whatever, but whatever the fuck  _that_  had been had to fall in one of those categories. Maybe that's what people meant by calling someone their other half, or their soul mate or twin flame or whatever. He wasn't sure, fuck, he figured part of his damage was that he was damaged goods, missing a piece, a set that could not ever be completed. But, fuck, Seth tried, and it felt good, and he felt whole, and he may not have been the proper piece but enough had been worn off and sliced away that he could fit comfortably enough.

Dean wondered if what was removed in order for Seth to fit comfortably into Dean's life was the part that told him when to quit.

* * *

Seth on the other hand, woke up to an empty bed, the television low and playing some infomercial. He was vaguely used to this, Dean had a tendency to wake up at odd intervals of the night, and when Seth padded out into the kitchen to see the note on the counter and the keys gone, he didn't have to read the scrap of paper to know where he was. He always went there. It was the one consistent he could find in Dean, who was all tumultuous energy and emotion, boiling and filling to the brim before spilling over through words and movements.

He lazily got dressed, knowing there was no rush, no danger. Dean would be sitting on the roof of his car, smoking a cigarette and staring at the stars. He did it often enough that Seth knew what part of the desert he'd be at. It was routine, it was tradition, it was habit. When he walked back out into the kitchen, he saw that there was his spare key on the counter next to the letter. Dean knew he'd be after him. Dean gave him a way back.

Seth pocketed the key, and walked out of the door, locking it behind him.

* * *

Dean wasn't surprised when he heard the sound of tires on gravel, and saw the light of headlights behind his eyelids. He kept his eyes closed as the car turned off, and he heard the crunch of footsteps.

"You found me."

"Like I'd ever lose you."

Dean smirked, and turned his head in the direction of the voice, opening his eyes slowly. "What, did the bed get cold without me?"

Seth rolled his eyes and offered his hand to Dean. Dean grabbed it, expecting for Seth to use it to prop himself up onto the car, but instead Seth pulled, making Dean swing his legs down to land on the ground.

Seth pushed Dean against the side of the car, and grabbed him by the front of the jacket, kissing him, deep and slow, taking his time in sucking the air from Dean's lungs. He broke the kiss finally, nipping gently at his bottom lip, before trailing kisses down his neck, feeling the flutter of his pulse under tongue and teeth.

"I can never lose you." He murmurs this into Dean's skin, clammy from the nighttime heat, kissing over his pulse before grazing teeth, tugging gently at the curls at the back of his head, an oddly soft part of his being.

"You're in fucking everything now." Seth moved his hand away, instead resting it on Dean's hip, pulling him towards him, making Dean feel how he was already starting to harden at the thought.

"Yeah, I'm a fucking plague." Dean groaned when he felt Seth hard against him, hitting his head slightly as he leaned back against the car. "I ruin everything I fucking touch."

"You haven't ruined me."

"Are you sure about that?"

Dean was answered by Seth undoing his pants, and wrapping his hand around him, stroking him slowly, feeling him grow thicker in his grasp. Seth grinned, watching Dean's face shift into relief and pleasure as he stroked him more, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slit, catching what little precum was there, and then bringing his thumb up to his mouth. "You don't taste like a plague to me."

"Come here." Dean grabbed Seth's face with both hands, kissing him hungrily, that possessive streak of tasting himself on Seth's lips ringing like a gong all the way along his nerves. His hand entangled itself in Seth's hair, while the other went to fumble with the fly of Seth's pants, when he swore he could  _taste_  the laughter coming from Seth.

The kiss broken, both of them gasping for air, chests heaving, they both reached to grasp the other, with Seth winning by swatting Dean's hand away, holding him as he rocked against him, desperate for that mutual release.

"You don't…you don't fucking get it, Dean." Seth bit again at Dean's neck, harder, definitely leaving a mark this time, his other hand threading back into the curls at the back of Dean's head.

"Fuck, you don't get it… just…  _fuck_ , you can't ruin me. I won't let you." He moved his hand from Dean's hair to curve around to rest at the base of his throat, Seth looking at Dean, saying silently that he can give just as well as he can receive.

"You're more than enough. You've always been more than enough. You're in fucking everything…  _fuck-_ " He felt himself starting to cum, spilling hot against Dean and his own hand, stroking himself into near oversensitivity in his mission to get Dean off.

"You  _are_  fucking everything."

He nipped at Dean's bottom lip, capturing his mouth as he felt Dean spill over onto him, which is exactly what he wanted, only he wanted more. He wanted Dean to spill  _everything_  into him. He swallowed those moans and sighs down, smiling against his lips as a whimper made its way out of Dean's throat. He finally broke the kiss, resting his head against Dean's shoulder, bringing his hand up to lick at.

Dean watched him, silently, in shock at how it seems as if Seth had shifted, if whatever that burning light at his spine had done had changed him somehow. He felt some of that overwhelming  _what the fuck is this_  leaving his body, seeping off of him, like a fog breaking apart in the daylight. He smiled at Seth, and kissed his forehead.

"I mean it Dean. You're fucking everywhere, fucking everything, it's like I can feel you in my fucking blood. If you cut me open, I swear you'd be inside of me."

Dean ignored the screaming in the back of his mind, the repeated yelling of  _how the fuck, how in the fuck, how did he, what in the, how does he know?_  Instead, he captured Seth's clean hand in his, kissing where their fingers were entwined.

He looked back up at the stars, and he swore he felt the energy in the area ripple, as if room had to be made for another piece.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well. Here we are. It took me a while, to finally find the right music and the right energy to finish this fic. Who knows, I mean, I've taken this fic off of "Completed" three separate times, but I think I've finally found a nice place to end this. Thank you, everyone, for all of your kind words and recommendations of this fic. You have no idea how much it means to me.
> 
> The music for this one is "Sinematic (Acoustic Version)" by Motionless In White. If you remember, the original "Sinematic" was used in Chapter 1. There's a reason for this. I might eventually make an 8tracks for the songs in this story. I have a Spotify playlist of it, and if you go over to my Tumblr, you're more than welcome to ask me for it and I'll post it.
> 
> Here we are. Thank you again.

[ _They noticed it was starting to bleed into their work._ ]

They had left the weekend still unsure of what they were, but a quick grasping of hands before leaving in separate vehicles for separate flights made promises of things to be discussed. However, it was obvious to the few who had known, so namely Roman and, oddly, Dolph, that something was going on. What the something _was_ , who knows, but as the work rivalry between Dean and Seth grew, certain movements, certain reactions, became much more glaringly obvious to those who watched with a keen eye.

[ _The way that Seth looked when Dean was sent to the back at Money in the Bank, his face flashing concern at the fact that Dean may have injured himself._ ]

Seth waited in the back, getting the congratulatory pats on the back or the glares of disdain while he clutched tightly to the briefcase, impatiently drumming his fingers against the metal. He wanted to make sure he was ok, even after he ran back in after his shoulder had been checked out, that bump from the superplex off of the ladder looked painful, and fuck it _was_ painful, but he saw how Dean had landed and he wanted to make sure he was ok. Even if he was supposed to hate him.

That seemed to be an ongoing problem for him.

But when he saw Dean walk out, shoulder taped to the point of it looking like a pauldron, rubbing carelessly at the back of his neck, he could breathe a sigh of relief. He couldn't approach him, not really, not right now, but he waited a few beats before grabbing his phone and typing a quick message.

- _I'm glad you're ok. xx -_

[ _The way that Dean kept discussing how he wanted to tear Seth apart_.]

"So you want to just grab me by the lapels of that suit, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up and get your ass over here."

Seth had smirked at Dean, loosening the black tie around his neck, watching as Dean stood, unsure of what to do, his hands flexing back and forth, cracking his knuckles finger by finger, the creaking of the leather jacket silenced the moment that Seth came up to him, an arm's length away, and essentially presented himself for Dean. "Go ahead."

Dean had never grabbed for something so quickly in his life.

[ _The way that Seth used his former vitriol to bring Dean to a brief moment of breaking when he insisted he never gave a damn about him in the first place._ ]

Seth had gone straight back to the hotel room, not waiting around for Dean. He was in a bad space mentally, letting himself fall back into his frustrations with him, allowing it to take hold of what he said on the mic. He could vaguely see what Dean's face had looked like, but he wouldn't know for sure how it would display on the television. But he had caught that brief moment of it looking like he would start crying. He had seen that face enough before.

From the last time he told him he didn't give a damn about him.

- _You know I didn't mean that, right?_ -

A moment later his phone buzzed in his hand. He looked down at the screen.

- _Not this time.-_

Fuck.

[ _The way Dean kissed his head and told him "I love you" in the ring at SummerSlam, after helping him up, a look of care and loving on his face._ ]

Seth had never felt so out of his mind in a ring before. He knew in advance that Dean would give him no leeway, and he preferred that, they knew each other inside and out, literally, and could play off each other without any fault in a ring. They'd make this the talked about match, at least until Lesnar came out to essentially murder Cena. But he hadn't expected to feel so loopy. He clawed at Dean, trying to get up, trying to grab him, trying to do _something_ , and the way that Dean helped him up, it felt antithetical to the fact that Dean was supposed to hate him. He… he was supposed to hate him, right? Wasn't that the point of this all? To hate him?

Then why was he telling him he loved him. In the middle of the ring. With cameras all around. On live television.

Why did he kiss his head in the ring?

And then he felt the boot to the back of his head. And a scream of "fuck!"

And then he realized he'd been looking at this rivalry all wrong. It wasn't about hatred. It was about heartbreak.

Life imitating art, or something like that.

[ _The brief hesitation in Seth's eyes before he curbstompped Dean's head through "cinderblocks."_ ]

"Dude they want me to do a movie."

"That's… that's fucking awesome. How long?"

"A month."

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah…"

Seth knew he had to be the one to take Dean out.

He didn't want to. He wanted to find some other way, but it unfortunately couldn't be the case, he knew he had set a thing in motion when he had turned his back, both in the story of their work and in real life. He hadn't meant to time them around the same path, but they said that life imitated art, or something like that. Roman still wasn't sure how he felt about Seth and Dean back together, and he knew that any semblance of retribution that Roman would enact in kayfabe might sting a bit more, might be a bit more stiff, because of actual emotions in place. Sure, he and Roman were friends, but Dean was his brother, and he knew that Roman still didn't forgive him for that. Career be damned, this was his family.

The day of when Dean would be written off, so to speak, Seth paced anxiously in the back, tugging at his hair.

"Stop doing that, the blonde's already broken as it is." Seth paused, seeing Dean standing there, hands in his jean pockets, that new hoodie of his - asshole already had more merchandise than him, what type of bullshit was that… - sitting tightly against his arms.

Seth looked around quickly, before moving towards Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist tightly.

"Hey, Seth, relax, it'll be fine. I'm going to be fine. You're not actually injuring me."

"I know but-"

"Nah, we'll talk later. We've got some hearts to break."

Seth nodded and moved his arms away, watching Dean smile at him and walk away, turning quickly to wave.

Seth felt like his heart would be one of them.

He stood there, on the announcer's table, watching Kane hold Dean down, and he knew realistically that it was Styrofoam, this wasn't real, those wouldn't really cause damage, but it was still an uneasy sight. He had to follow through. He _had_ to, and he hated it.

His foot connected with the back of Dean's head.

Seeing Dean lying there, seeing him taken out on stretcher… it was not a sight he would ever want to see again.

It was a sight he knew he could have seen if he didn't go to his apartment that night, months ago. Dean could have gotten alcohol poisoning or bled to death or god knows what else he could have done, and he would have felt like it was his fault. He knew deep down that Roman would have helped him out, but he still felt like Dean's life was in his hands, and he kept finding some way to fuck it up exponentially.

At the hotel room, the cold white sheets of his bed weren't as reassuring as the sheets back at the apartment, warmed by body heat and rumpled from sleep and from sex. This was too pristine, too crisp, too sanitary. Everything in his life seemed to be that way now. He missed the blurred edges and spontaneity of being around Dean 24/7. That was his weight to carry.

_-I don't like hurting you.-_

His phone didn't go off for another half hour.

- _I told you, you didn't hurt me.-  
_

_-Yeah, but still. I don't like hurting you.-  
_

_-Seth. Relax. I'm fine. Are you ok?-  
_

_-I'm sorry.-_

_-For what?-  
_

_-Everything.-  
_

_-Seth. Stop.-  
_

_-I hurt you. Idk, just seeing you on the stretcher online, freaked me out.-_

_-Seth it's kayfabe.-_

_-It's the thought of you on a stretcher. What if I didn't find you in enough time…-_

His phone rung after that.

"'Ello?"

"Seth. Will you stop blaming yourself for that?"

"It's kind of hard not to, Dean. I mean, we're working on things now, which is great, but all I can think about is what if I didn't find you in enough time, what if you did something stupid, what if I got there too late and had to watch you get carted out on a stretcher. I could have _actually_ ended your career."

"Seth, you give yourself too much credit there. I doubt that you'd be the one to end my career."

"You know what I mean jackass."

"Listen. Take a deep breath. Just, relax. It'll be ok. I'm going to be in Canada, and the month or so of filming will be over before you know it, and I'll be back to ruin your daily existence in no time."

Seth had to laugh at that, and his heart fluttered hearing Dean laugh along with him. "You're right. I'm sorry. I love you."

Hearing Seth say that made Dean's nerves settle, he'd been wired after the end of Raw, he was embarking on a strange new part of his life, and his emotions were flying around, lost in the wind, floating away.

Hearing that brought him back to earth. It anchored him.

"I know. It's ok. I love you too."

Hearing Dean say that made a weight settle in Seth's stomach, cold and unrelenting. It was too much pressure, having Dean love him again so quickly. But then again, maybe he had never stopped. Who knew. He sure didn't.

"Check your briefcase, by the way. Have a good night."

Seth wished him the same and hung up the phone. The briefcase, gold and dented and a glaring reminder of his consistent fuckups, sat on the chair on the opposite side of the room. He crawled out of bed, and moved towards the case. He popped it open, and sitting there, not so much folded but more stuffed inside, was that hoodie of Dean's. It was rumpled and smelled like cologne and a little bit like sweat. It was what he needed.

If you were to ask Seth Rollins if he put that hoodie on the extra pillow in the bed and latched onto it in his sleep, he'd deny it to his grave.

But, even though it was far too squishy to be Dean, who was all hard muscle under soft skin, it smelled like him, and that was enough. It settled his thoughts and lulled him into sleep.

It anchored him.


	10. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey guys! I just wanted to let you all know, for the 50 millionth time probably, how much I appreciate all of the love and compliments towards this fic. You all make my heart very happy.

So, there's a present over at my blog for you all, in context of this story. If you come over to my Tumblr, and go to my fanfic tag, there it is. Or if you're in the Ambrollins tag, I'm sure you can find it...

I love you all. Thank you again.


End file.
